


Heavy Tempo

by CottonCandyWool



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, it's more of an ensemble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-27
Updated: 2013-03-27
Packaged: 2017-12-06 17:32:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/738273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CottonCandyWool/pseuds/CottonCandyWool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>America's skills at ballroom dancing have deteriorated over the years. This poses a bit of a problem at certain gatherings. That doesn't stop him from sweeping the dance floor at one of Austria's galas. Luckily England is there to lead him. Maybe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heavy Tempo

America shifted from one foot to the other in discomfort as he straightened the lapels on his suit jacket. He couldn’t manage to keep the small frown off his face as he glanced down at himself. It had been a while since he’d had to fit into particular ensemble. It was proving to be a bit too tight on him. Just a little!

He resisted the urge to run a hand through his hair, remembering the better part of an hour spent trying to get it to behave. He’d managed to get most of it slicked back His right hand had however found it’s way to the familiar curve of Nantucket, twisting it around his index finger, a familiar twitch. He sighed, blue eyes skimming the elegantly dressed group of amassed nations. 

Austria had sent out a mass invitation for a gala, the first one in quite a while. When there was an opportunity for everyone to gather together, hopefully _without_ the stress of meetings and obligations, it was rare for even one nation to turn down an invitation. And though such things are mostly to relax and enjoy company as _each other_ such events were normally extravagant affairs. Still always out to one up each other, unfortunately. (And none of them could throw a party like America, of course!)

A large orchestra was playing, Austria up front on his piano, Hungary seated next to him. She seemed to be talking to him, probably asking for a dance, though Austria seemed totally engaged in his playing.

A few pairs were twirling on the dance floor, America’s attention particularly drawn to France and Monaco’s dizzying movements. The warm creams and oranges of Monaco’s billowing dress dancing about them like a fire. They both seemed in perfect sync.

France had already had a go with America on the floor, twirling him and leaving him a little winded by the end, taking advantage of his skills of ballroom dancing dwindling. He’d been a bit handsy, though that hadn’t surprised America. The Frenchman had laughed and twirled him around once more for effect before wading through the crowd for another partner.

Ukraine had also approached him for a dance, and Canada had taken the opportunity to whisk him about and show America that he was better at another thing until America had nearly fallen flat on his face. He was so getting him back for that at some point.

America preferred big band affairs, anyway.

He was saving his last dance for England, though.

It’d been a while since they’d had some semblance of an actual date, too.

He was transfixed on the pair, lost in his thoughts, until he was suddenly aware of someone standing next to him. 

“Liechtenstein!” He exclaimed, greeting the small girl with a smile. She looked a bit flustered, cheeks dusted a soft pink. Earrings peeked out from beneath her hair and she’d traded her usual blue ribbon for a dusky red headband, a velvety rose proudly showing its artificial petals on the right. It went well with the soft pink of her flowing dress.

“Good evening, America.” She replied, pushing some of her hair behind her ear. “I was wondering if, um, you’d have a dance with me?” She asked, holding out her hand.

“Ah, well...um...” America once again scanned the crowd, in search of Switzerland. He wasn’t far off. America bit his lip. He may be a bit oblivious to some things but he knew better than to upset the neutral nation. He didn’t know if it would be better to turn her down or take her our.

“I’d like to but I’m not...very good at this kind of thing anymore,” He laughed, suddenly aware that he was still twirling Nantucket about his finger. He quickly withdrew his hand before giving Liechtenstein a sheepish smile. “If you still wanna?” America stretched out a hand, hovering under hers.

She giggled at him before placing her hand in his. “That’s just fine.”

America hesitantly lead Liechtenstein out onto the dance floor. It was in the middle of a song but the less time America had to spend embarrassing himself the better.

Most of the “dance” was spent awkwardly rocking back and forth, a few twirls here and there. Though both parties didn’t seem to mind, as they were soon engaged in a conversation about how Liechtenstein somehow manage to get her brother to illustrate a small story she’d written on a whim, and how _big brother has such cute art_ and _England is really good too, the jerk, it’s unfair!_ Which gave way to talking about the _My Little Pony_ comics. And they’d gone a bit into the next song before Switzerland had finally marched over and escorted Liechtenstein away. She waved back at America over her shoulder before falling into step with her brother.

Once they were out of sight America sighed again. Moving like that just made it more obvious how _tight_ the monkey suit was. Though definitely not more around the middle, really. He was just taller.

America moved off to the side again and noticed Hungary eagerly dragging Austria away from the stage and Italy whispering to the conductor.

“I’m going to be playing the next few songs!” The exuberant brunette proclaimed loudly before seating himself “Here we go, ve!” The music weaving about the ballroom was much more upbeat and not quite as stuffy as Austria’s playlist had been, much to America’s relief. There were also a few sour notes from the piano but Italy was unperturbed.

A tap on his shoulder brings America face to face with England.

England was dressed in a sharp beige tuxedo, a flowery embroidered handkerchief in his pocket.

Emerald eyes scanned him up and down before the Englishman gave disdainful sniff. “It’s a shame you clean up so well only to make such a mess of yourself on the dance floor.”

America resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at England.”Hello to you, too.” He said instead. “I’m just used to something cooler.” He remarked, crossing his arms.

England raised an impressive eyebrow at him. “Of course.” He said with a roll of his eyes, subject to these “cooler” things every time they were together.

The younger man “hmph’ed” and grabbed England by the wrist, dragging him like a dog straining against its leash.

“I’ll show you!” America declared, and for the first time that night really attempted to conjure up exactly how to ballroom dance.

He couldn’t manage much except for jerking the slighter man about and more than once stepping all on England’s feet. “Wait, I can do this...” He murmured.

“Would you stop, you big buffoon!” England hissed, before forcefully taking the lead. America struggled to keep in step, while fighting to take the lead again, before suddenly the room is spinning and he’s about to hit the floor and England’s left hand worms into his and England’s arm looped behind his back. America’s blue eyes were wide as he took in the smug, satisfied, strained face of England over him. His arm is trembling from the effort of keeping America up off the ground.

Before the two could even attempt to get upright England’s strength gave out and they both tumbled in a heap to the floor, America yelping when his head hits. England stays with his head on America’s chest, letting out a deep breath. Their hands are still clasped, England’s right arm pinned beneath America’s bulk.

Both of their faces burned red, everyone’s eyes suddenly on them. A wave of snickers passed through the crowd.

“Jeez, England!” America said finally.

“Gods, you’re heavy.” England raised his head as he said this.

America made a strange noise in response before turning his head to the side in a huff.

The sound of England _chuckling_ of all things drew America’s attention back. The other blondes cheeks are still tinged with embarrassment but he looks giddy. “It’s just such a delight to catch you off guard.” The Briton said, “I couldn’t hold out any longer.”

It wasn’t any better now, America sprawled beneath him, face red (albeit from embarrassment). The suit he’d been so complaining about hugged him in just the right way and England couldn’t keep his eyes from straying to America’s admittedly shapely thighs.

America blinked in surprise.

“Besides,” England continued, “sweeping everyone else about the dance floor, looking so stunning when I’ve hardly seen you. Forgive me for being distracted.” He finished dramatically.

America could only continue to blink owlishly.

“Though you _are_ getting rather heavy.”

America sputtered at that but before he can get up an stalk away England beats him to it, wrenching his arm out from beneath America and quickly turning tail.

America immediately scampered after him, eager to get away from knowing, amused eyes.

The building housing the ballroom was large, but America was lucky enough to see England disappear into the room where everyone had stashed their coats and jackets.

England’s back was to him, posture stiff as he entered. He twitched when he heard the door shut and when he looked over his shoulder at America his face was still bright red. He scoffed almost immediately and turned back around.

America could feel his own cheeks cooling and sidled up behind England. “England.” He said. And when there was no response, “Englaaand.”

Then England deflated as he sighed, and America settled his chin on the smaller man’s shoulder. England knocked his own head softly against America’s. “You’re really a horrid dancer.”

America puffed up his cheeks at that. “You’re a horrid teacher.”

England smiled, and their hands found each other again. “I suppose we could practice more often.”

“As long as you don’t drop me again.”

“Sometimes you deserve it.”

England laughed softly at America’s pout.

Then England turned to face America fully, planting his hands on the American’s hips. He opened his mouth as if to say something but the look on America’s face made him think better of it. Instead he felt his expression soften and he leaned up the little bit to press their lips together. Though even just touching him, the tight suit reminding him of what lay underneath, of what would definitely be _his_ tonight.

“Wanna go finish our dance?” America asked as they pulled away.

“As long as you still let me lead.”

“Fine.” America agreed sullenly.

England chuckled and took hold of America’s face. “I mean for the _entire_ night, love.” He said in a hushed tone, mouth quirked in a wicked smirk.

Color rushed to America’s cheeks again but a smile worked it’s way onto his face and he nodded shyly.

“Lead the way.”

**Author's Note:**

> Just an old-ish drabble so my account doesn't look too lonely.


End file.
